


walk a line until it blurs, build walls too high to climb out

by notthebigspoon



Series: pretty when you cry [6]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim loves his family. His life definitely doesn't suck. He's just restless.</p><p>Title taken from Better As a Memory by Kenny Chesney.</p>
            </blockquote>





	walk a line until it blurs, build walls too high to climb out

Tim loves Javi and George. He does, he's absolutely crazy about them. They're everything he's ever wanted and they give him everything that he needs, be it in bed or otherwise. And a lot of the time they give him things that even he didn't know he needed. Javi has a penchant for discipline that Tim sometimes hates but always ends up appreciating. George follows Javi's lead in bed but when they're not in a scene, not playing, he's the biggest sweetheart on the planet. He's always taking care of everyone around him, fretting and worrying if he thinks they're not happy.

He loves his husbands. He loves their kids and he'd never thought that he would be a parent of any sort. Kylan acts like he's the greatest thing ever and their shouted conversations are a source of endless aggravation and amusement to Javi. Christian is too young to have an opinion on anything. All he does is eat, poop and sleep. He seems to fall asleep a little bit faster, though, when he's curled up in Tim's arms while Tim paces the nursery and sings to him.

Tim loves his family. His life definitely doesn't suck. He's just restless.

Not even a year ago, he spent most of his nights out partying, smoking and drinking, most of the time with people he'd never met before or, if he had, he just couldn't remember their names or their faces. He'd stay in the night before he was scheduled to play but every other night of the week was fair game. He wasn't a perfect guy but he never broke a law that didn't involve pot. It was outrageous behavior, things he's surprised never turned up online, given the people he'd slept with and the things that he did with them. None of it is anything that he should miss. But he does miss it. Not the sex, never the sex, but the freedom and the complete lack of responsibility.

He knows it was dangerous. If he got busted with weed, there'd be hell to pay on all sides. And it really is a miracle that pictures or a sex tape never turned up online, being sold pay-per-view. There's only one video out there, so far as he knows, and it's on one of his old phones, lost somewhere in his apartment in Seattle. The worst thing, though, was the people that he'd scened with.

Not all of them were bad. Tim has some fond memories of a guy named John, who had made Tim fly and then gently eased him back down with quiet words and light kisses. He was a nice guy, John. Still is. Tim still emails him once in a while. On reflection, he'd really been the only good Top Tim had hooked up with then.

After that, the longer he was alone, the less picky he got. The scenes got fewer and further between. He tried to stop but it just made him desperate enough to throw caution to the wind in favor of seedy clubs and listings on Craigslist. It was dangerous. He never _really_ knew what was going to happen until it did. He wasn't taken care of, left to fumble his own way out of subspace. It would always take hours, a few times it took longer than a day.

No one had noticed how he was dazed and confused, how much he really couldn't process what was happening around him. Nobody had noticed except for Javi, who had sacrificed a loving, monogamous relationship in favor of taking care of Tim and his fucked up needs, dealing with Tim's instability. Tim knows that Javi doesn't mind it, that Javi loves him. George is the same way and far more exuberant in his displays of affection. They love him. They take care of him. And yet all he can think about right now is getting away from them for a night and partying like the sun is never going to rise again.

He's an asshole.

He shrugs off George's attempts to make plans for the night. George looks a little hurt when Tim says he's not in the mood and that he's going out. He doesn't ask questions, just retreats to the living room where Javi is watching some documentary. It's only 30 seconds before gunfire is echoing down the hall, George apparently drowning his hurts in Call of Duty. Tim feels guilty all the way up the stairs and while he's changing but the thought of a night away from everything gets him smiling again. HE takes the stairs two at a time on the way down.

He leans into the living room. Just like he'd thought, George is playing Call of Duty, sitting in the floor with his back against the couch. Javi is sprawled out on the couch with Cy and Kayo snoozing by his feet. He has one hand out, toying and playing with George's hair, humming while he watches George play. Tim clears his throat and tells them he's going out. George doesn't look away from his game. Javi spares Tim a quick and uninterested glance before saying that they'll see him later.

Tim wishes he felt a little more guilty but mostly he's relieved or he jogs out to his car. The name and address of the club are programmed into his memory, the route that he takes flashing in his mind like a film reel. It was dim when he left the house and when he reaches the club, it's completely dark. It's a little early but Tim knows the party will already be going, hundreds of beautiful people eager to forget something or someone. Probably a lot of them are like Tim, re-harnessing how they used to feel when they weren't responsible for anyone but themselves.

He pays the cover, feels the music slam into him as he descends the stairs into the cavern like club. Bubbles are floating everywhere and people are drinking luminescent drinks, painting each other with neon paint. He allows himself to be pulled into a group, drinking a rainbow of shots before a guy that looks a little like Jeremy Renner grins and starts drawing on Tim's cheek. He shouts over the music that he's going to make Tim look pretty. His pupils are the size of olives. Tim wonders what he's on.

Two shots later, Tim is handed a joint. He stares at it for a moment, turning it back and forth. He hasn't smoked pot since he hooked up with George and Javi for good. The subject has never come up but Tim knows without asking that Javi would never approve. George's opinion is a little hazier but Tim can hazard a guess that he wouldn't be too pleased. Even knowing that, knowing how mad they'll be if and when they find out, he takes a drag anyway before passing it back. He doesn't refuse when it's returned to him. Between the tequila and the weed, over the course of the night, he ends up floating somewhere in the stratosphere.

People come and go as the hours pass and Tim has a thousand and one new friends. The only constant is the Renner-alike by his side, periodically cuddling and painting him, dropping kisses on his cheek or playing with his hair. It's nice, makes Tim twist and stretch and purr like a cat. When last call has rolled around, he grabs Tim's hand, pulls him up the stairs and out into the night air. They're still giggling and Tim thinks little of it when the guy's arms wrap around his body. But then he's kissing Tim and Tim is shaking his head and backing away.

“No. I can't. No. I'm married.” Tim says, drunkenly but firmly, shaking his head so hard that it spins. The guy watches him and pouts.

“But you're here.”

“Needed a night out.”

“You must have a really understanding wife.” The guys says slowly, shaking his head with a smile on his face. He kisses Tim's cheek again. “Well, my loss. Maybe I'll see you here again unattached.”

Tim watches him leave, watches him stand at the curb and flag down a cab. Tim touches his own cheek as he staggers through the parking lot. He stares at his own car with dismay, gnawing on his lip and wondering how he's going to get home. He can't drive, not when he's this fucked up. He unlocks the car, climbs into the back seat and shuts the door before locking it again. He curls up and stares at his phone. It's three in the morning. Probably his husbands are asleep. He calls anyway.

Javi answers the phone sounding sleepy and grumpy. His mood doesn't improve when Tim slurs out why he's calling, telling Javi where he is and asking for them to please come get him. Javi mutters an annoyed order for Tim to stay put, that they'll be there soon. He hangs up without another word. Tim pushes his phone back into his pocket and lies back, wishing that he was home in his own bed. He's hammered, kinda queasy, the long night hitting him all at once.

When lights sweep over the car, he grumbles and tries to sit up. He's barely managed it when there's a sharp knock on the window, followed by a snap to wake up and unlock the door already. Tim smiles drunkenly, reaching across to do as he's told. He manages to unlock it and nudges it ineffectually, falling back with an oof. The door opens a minute later and there's Javi. He's wearing pajama pants and a hoodie and he looks _pissed_. Tim shrinks in on himself.

“Well. At least you weren't stupid enough to drive.” He says, unimpressed as he looks Tim over. He stands back, waits for Tim to get out. Tim moves as far as he can, staggers and falls back when he tries to get up. Javi curses under his breath and grabs Tim's arms, pulling him to stand. “Well come on.”

Tim bites his lip and follows his husband to the truck, clinging to Javi to keep himself steady. He lets Javi boost him into the truck, buckle him into the seat. George is standing by the truck and refusing to look at Tim, taking his car keys from Javi and nodding when Javi tells him to follow them home with the car. 

There's no talking on the way home. Tim tries to say something once and Javi just turns the radio up the slightest bit, vein in his temple throbbing and his hands white knuckled on the steering wheel. He glances into the rear view mirror and it makes Tim turn around. The kids are fast asleep in the back seat and it makes Tim feel worse than ever. He bites his lip and rests his head against the window, staying quiet until they're pulling into their driveway.

He gets out of the truck without being told, starts to open the back door of the truck and flinches when Javi orders him to go inside and go shower in the guest room. The significance of the location isn't lost on Tim and he hangs his head, doing as he's told. He has to grip the railing to make it up the stairs and he goes to their bedroom first, grabbing clean clothes before stumbling to the guest room and stripping down to scrub the night off of his skin.

When he steps out of the shower and starts drying off, he can hear Kylan mumbling something he can't hear. George says something that sounds soothing and Tim moves closer to the door, crawling into bed, in time to hear him tell Kylan that daddy is just sick and she needs to go back to bed. She agrees on condition that she get to kiss daddy good night. The door creaks open a minute later. George looks tired and irritated but Kylan is watching Tim with wide, anxious eyes.

She kisses his cheek and pets his hair, tells him to get better so they can go to the park tomorrow. He tells her it's a set thing and promises a couple rounds on the swings. She nods and clings to George's neck when he starts to carry her out. She keeps watching Tim over his shoulder, blowing him a kiss and waving her hand good night. Tim smiles, blows one back and rests his head back on his pillow, closing his eyes.

He's still drunk. Still high. Right now, he wishes desperately that he was sober. This night wasn't worth it to upset his husbands so badly. He curls up on his side, staring out the window at the tree next to the house. The door creaks again not much later and he keeps his eyes closes as the bed shifts, someone's weight settling on the edge next to him. A large hand pets through his hair and he hears a long suffering sigh that he hears rather a lot.

“I don't know what I'm going to do with you.” Javi says softly. “I want you to be happy. George and I try to make you happy. Try to give you what you need. And you go and do something like this. Why, Tim? Why not tell us? Why go out and do drugs, get drunk off your ass?”

“Just... missed not being responsible for anyone but myself.”

“Pulling a stunt like you did tonight is a good way to make sure that that is the only person you're responsible for in the future.”

Tim locks up before sitting up, giving Javi a pleading look. “I'm sorry. Don't... don'tmakemeleave.”

“We're not going to make you leave. Idiot.” Javi sighs, kissing Tim. “We love you too much for that. But this? This doesn't happen again. If you want to go out, fine. You want to get hammered, okay. But no drugs. Jesus, Tim, you get caught with that, you know what could happen.”

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“I know you are. And... well, at least you called us. I'm proud of you for that.” Javi smiles, petting his cheek before letting go and taking a breath, shaking his head. “You owe George a bigger apology than you do me, telling him you didn't want to do anything and then doing what you did. You owe him big time.”

“Think I can make it up to him tomorrow?”

“Oh, you can bet you're going to.”

He's smiling now, though, and he kisses Tim's cheek. He doesn't tell Tim he can go back to their bed and Tim didn't expect him to. Tim knows that he's relegated to the guest room for the night and where he's sleeping tomorrow night depends on whether or not George has forgiven him. He will, though. George can't stay mad at anyone very long, even when his feelings have been hurt, and Tim plans on apologizing beautifully. 

Most likely he'll be doing it on his knees with a full mouth.


End file.
